


I Guess She Was Still Interested, After All.

by Artemisausten



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Caspian just being lovable, Edmund makes a joke at Caspian's expense, F/M, Light Angst, Mild Smut, Sex, Smut, Vaginal Sex, Wife!Reader - Freeform, just for fun, really loud sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:42:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28579923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artemisausten/pseuds/Artemisausten
Summary: It's been so long since you and Caspian have been together that you've begun to think Caspian just isn't that interested in you anymore. You don't realize that Caspian is thinking the same thing about you, or that the walls of the Dawn Treader are so thin.Done for a tumblr prompt:can i request king caspian x wife!reader smut where they are in the voyage of the dawn treader but can’t find any time to spend together, there’s always someone interrupts them or there’s always something to do etc. but one day finally they get to chance to do what they are trying to do for a long time lol and after that reepicheep and edmund teases them?
Relationships: Caspian (Narnia) & Reader, Caspian (Narnia)/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 44





	I Guess She Was Still Interested, After All.

It’s been days.

No, you think, it’s been longer than that. You’ve actually been trying  _ for days _ to figure out exactly how long it’s been, and that’s the real problem. You can’t remember the last time you and Caspian had any real time alone together. You can’t remember the last time he shared your bed, or the last time he touched you in any way that was truly intimate and not some chaste gesture because the crew or servants or courtiers were around. You’re not sure when the last time Caspian held you was, and the realization of it makes you quietly ache with a loneliness you don’t know how to describe.

It wasn’t intentional by any means. You know the reason that you and Caspian have been distant from each other is because you’ve both been so busy—and that it started long before this journey on the Dawn Treader. Caspian is King and you are Queen, and life at court is filled with chaos and crises that constantly demand your attention. You can’t reschedule taking care of the country and its people just because you and Caspian can’t seem to get any quality time together.

Even if you’re sorely tempted to do just that.

No, you think bitterly, pulling the blanket up over your head and closing your eyes, your needs come second. That’s just part of the life you lead, and it’s the life you chose when you agreed to be Caspian’s wife. It is what it is. Get used to the loneliness, you tell yourself silently, because it’s hardly going to let up any time soon. 

Morning comes and you’re still unsatisfied. Another day passes and Caspian can’t come to bed. Idly, you wonder if maybe he’s just lost interest in you. You stare up at the wooden ceiling of your tiny bedroom on the ship, fingers picking at a stray thread of your blanket, and you mentally run through the agonizing scenario in your mind. After all, you remember, it was an arranged marriage. It’s not like Caspian was really in love with you when you were pushed together. There was another, you remember—someone named Susan—who he cared for...and you had determined you would never care for anyone. You’d seen enough sour relationships in your life that you weren’t interested in having one at all, let alone falling in love.

Then your parents had come up with the brilliant idea to marry you off to Caspian, and Caspian—the dumb shit—had actually agreed to it.

“I know that this is not a…” Caspian had trailed off during that conversation, his young face looking troubled as he stood tall by your side, hands clasped behind his back in a formal pose that made you even more uneasy. “An ideal situation,” he finally continued, having decided on the right words before he met your gaze again. “But I do believe it’s for the best for both of our countries—and I plan to be a good husband to you.” He looked so earnest as he said it that you couldn’t help but look away, frustrated by emotions that you were trying to bury. “I’ll do everything I can to please you, Y/N, and make you happy.”

He hadn’t been lying. Caspian has done everything he could to make you as happy as possible. He’s given you a comfortable life and included you in his own. He’s let you rule beside him rather than being a figurehead or someone just there to give him an heir. He’s helped you see past the bad relationships you’ve witnessed to realize that good men do exist and that a good relationship is possible. More than that, he let you see that  _ you _ could have that, too, rather than merely watching others find it.

You’d been nervous that first night, anxiously sitting on the bed in your robe. You’d tugged at the silky fabric, constantly readjusting it on your shoulder as you tried to decide how to act for Caspian. As his wife, you knew what was expected of you—but you weren’t sure what Caspian wanted. Should you be a seductress and slide the robe down off one shoulder, showing the bare skin of your collarbone and the curve of your breast? Should you hike the hem up and part the robe just a little, and tease Caspian with a view of your thighs and a not so subtle reminder of your sex? Or would he prefer you be more reserved, more proper and ladylike? Should you keep the robe high on your shoulders, belted tightly to cover yourself in a show of modesty? 

At some point you sighed and leaned forward, cupping your face in your hands and trying not to sob that you were in this situation at all. It was too much to handle, being married and not knowing what to do or who to be or what he would want. You wanted to cry.

And that was when Caspian came in, kneeling in front of you and gently prying your hands away from your face. He looked so concerned for you, it was surprising. He held your hands, stroking the outside of one with his thumb, and talked to you. “We don’t have to do this.”

You remember the way your voice sounded like a croak, so many emotions that you didn’t how to process at that moment trying to find their way to the surface. Fear. Anxiety. Sadness. Loneliness. A terrible, terrible feeling of being so small and inconsequential that your own life didn’t even belong to you, even if you did just marry a king. “I’m your wife—this is what I’m supposed to do.”

Caspian frowned, not letting go of your hands. He’d been determined not to leave you alone. You weren’t in this by yourself, not from Cassian’s perspective. He would never want you to think that. “What are you supposed to do?”

You were crying, you think. You can’t remember why, exactly, and you don’t care to. You just remember that you were and that you felt stupid in that moment, so stupid, for being so emotional. “I’m supposed to share your bed and give you an heir, and do what you ask of me.”

Now Caspian really frowned and for a moment you thought you’d said something wrong. You weren’t supposed to sound like you were complaining, you thought. You didn’t mean to, even if it was all so overwhelming. You were just having a hard time and you needed—you needed—space.

Hell. You were never going to have space again, now that you were married. The thought made you want to cry even harder.

Caspian didn’t mind that you were crying, though. He didn’t care if you complained or you were overwhelmed, or if you needed space to figure things out. He’d had plenty of those moments himself when he was adjusting to life as a ruler. He could hardly blame you for having them, too. No, what bothered Caspian was your view of yourself and your role in his life. He didn’t want you to feel like you were only around to be his servant or to make babies, or to give him pleasure whenever he wanted it. 

Caspian wanted you to feel valued and loved. He wanted you to have an opinion and to tell him about it. He wanted you to be a partner in life, even if you never grew to love him the way that arranged marriages are usually described. 

He’d sighed and leaned forward to kiss your hands, lips soft and chaste against your skin, before meeting your eyes that were clouded with tears. “You’re supposed to do whatever you want to do,” he’d told you then. “And if that includes sharing my bed or giving me children, then I’m grateful for it. If it means that you’d rather wait until we know each other better, I’m happy to wait for you, Y/N. Or if it means…” He paused then, knowing what it would mean if you chose to leave and preparing himself to deal with the consequences. “If it means that you would rather leave right now, then we don’t have to be married. I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to, Y/N.”

You were stunned and you decided to wait, and Caspian respected that. He’d kissed your hands once more that night and told you that he wished you good dreams, and left you to the quiet of your own room and the sobs that were slowly dying down as you said goodbye to your old life.

Then he courted you—day after day after day. He flirted with you. He got to know you. He learned what made you laugh and what made you happy. He showed you what was happening in the country and listened to your thoughts. He took your advice. He became your friend and then he gradually became your lover.

It’s perhaps what surprised you most of all about Caspian, you think. The way he just puts you at ease. You were nervous the first time you really kissed him, uncertain how to do it exactly since you’d never really had any interest in kissing anyone before. You’d almost knocked him off his feet, shoving your face against his in a clumsy attempt to capture his lips with your own before laying one wet smooch there and pulling away quickly. Your cheeks were burning at the surprise and entertainment on Caspian’s face. You smacked your lips, self-conscious. “That didn’t really go the way I imagined our first kiss would be,” you said in embarrassment and disappointment.

“Maybe we should try again,” Caspian suggested. You couldn’t help getting caught up in the way he looked when he smiled, so young and handsome. 

“It’s over, though. You can’t have two first kisses. I already ruined it.”

“Well, I won’t tell if you won’t.” 

Caspian leaned in to kiss you and thankfully it was far less clumsy, and far more passionate, than the first one. He has this way of kissing you, you think. It starts out soft and slow, as if he’s asking permission to taste you, and becomes rough and all-consuming when you agree to let him in. It’s hard to resist when Caspian is kissing you because you get so caught up in the way his mouth feels against yours, the way his tongue moves over the inside of your lip, the way he makes you feel desired. You didn’t notice his hand slipping around your waist and pulling you against him until you were pressed into the warmth of his body, and when you did notice you realized how much you wanted it and how much you wanted more. It was the first time you felt your body waking to Caspian’s touch, the first flood of warmth that shot from your core to every extremity as your body suddenly craved him. Every bit of clothing between you was too much, you realized then. 

You wanted more with Caspian than to be a wife in name only. You wanted to be his lover.

He was attentive when it happened, so confident, that you didn’t have time to be nervous about it. You fell back on the bed, your dress long forgotten, legs on either side of Caspian above you, and you’d refused to stop kissing him as his hands moved over you. He explored every inch he could find, every soft curve, every goosebump that rose in the cool night air as his body kept you warm, every ticklish spot that made your breath catch or your stomach flutter or made you hum against his mouth. He’d found the wet spot between your thighs, easing his fingers slowly inside you, burying them as deep as he could and noticing with satisfaction how your legs parted further and your hips arched for more. The kiss broke when you gasped as he moved his fingers inside you and Caspian gazed down at you with a look of awe and reverence at the sheer pleasure on your face. He realized then how much he loved you like this, relaxed and comfortable with him and lost in the feeling of heated pleasure that he could give you. It was a long time before he’d even moved to push himself inside you, waiting until you were already satisfied to even try taking it to the next step.

You dream about that first time sometimes, about what it was like to see Caspian naked and vulnerable with you, about how easy it was to let him move over you and feel him inside you. You dream about those moments afterward, when you and Caspian lay there quietly in bed and listened to the sounds of each other breathing for what seemed like an eternity before you’d suddenly started laughing.

You sounded hysterical to your own ears, but you couldn’t stop yourself. It seemed to be the way things were with Caspian—the way things still are—that you can’t help the emotions. They’re just there. He makes it easy to feel all of them. He makes it less scary to have them at all. 

Caspian smiled as he looked over you, brown eyes twinkling in the faint light of your bedroom as he watched you laugh and thought how beautiful you looked. “What?” He edged closer to you on the bed, running a hand over your waist. “What is it?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted through fits of laughter: “I don’t know, I’m just—just—” You knew it would sound stupid when you said it out loud, but you said it anyway. Nothing seemed stupid with Caspian, you think, not really. “I’m just so happy.”

It made Caspian happier than he had words to express. The only way he could think of to show you how happy you’d made him was to repeat the entire night over again.

Another day passes on the Dawn Treader and you and Caspian barely have time to exchange words, always interrupted or too busy, always something else to see to. You sneak glances at him whenever you can. Sometimes you think you can feel him looking at you, watching you, as if he has the same longing that you do, but whenever you look back at him, his attention is elsewhere. Your marriage, you think, is back where it started.

A wife in name only. Perhaps it’s just as well. It’s been so long since Caspian has been with you that surely, you think, there’s a reason. It had been an infatuation, a silly little romance. Two people put in an impossible position and making the best of whatever they had. And Caspian had really been a good man about it, you think, going out of his way to be kind and gentle and show you a love that he didn’t have to. You should be grateful for that. You are grateful for that. 

You resolve not to let yourself cry as you think about how you wanted more with Caspian.

You lay awake in bed that night and stare at the wall, propped on your side as one arm is tucked uncomfortably under the pillow beneath your head. Your arm and wrist are sore from the position, but you don’t notice as your gaze remains absently fixed on the creases in the wood, smoothed to a perfection worthy of housing a King while he’s at sea. You have the ridiculous urge to reach out and touch it, tracing your fingers along each line as you retrace the steps of your life that led you to this moment. The room feels cold and distant, even huddled underneath your blanket, and you want to curl up against the wall and feel it beside you as you lie there in bed—another point of contact, you think, to ground you in this moment and give you sense a stability when your soul is as much at sea at this ship.

A silent tear warms your cheek as it falls. You miss Caspian so much, you feel stupid. Why did you even come on this trip?

The door opens and Caspian walks in, his steps quiet and unhurried as he closes the door behind him and watches you curiously in the dark of the room. He’s been waiting and hoping that the two of you could get some time alone together. He’s been trying hard to balance being the King and being a husband. He’s trying to lead the crew and trying to be with you. 

He’s not sure that he’s doing either very successfully.

Even Edmund had noticed as Caspian stood at the helm, eyeing the long expanse of sea before the ship and sneaking glances away to find you. 

“You could just go talk to her, you know,” Edmund had said with a knowing smirk. 

Caspian pretended not to know what Edmund was talking about, fixing his gaze on the water. “What’s that?”

Edmund wasn’t fooled. Not that it was difficult, of course, the way the two of you looked after each other like lovelorn teenagers. Even if he’d been blind, Edmund thought, he would have seen it. “Y/N,” Edmund said insistently. “You could take a break here and go talk to her.”

Caspian glanced away from the sea long enough to find you on the other side of the ship, talking to a couple of the crew. The easy smile he’s always worn with you was pulled into a frown, uncertain. “It’s not that easy, Edmund. The crew have to see me leading them.”

Edmund didn’t care for the excuse. “So? You can still lead and take a break to go talk to her. It’s not like the ship is going anywhere without you.” He glanced between you and Caspian, catching the both of you stealing looks at each other before turning away awkwardly, and sighed. “At the very least, you could put me out of my misery, having to watch the two of you.” When Caspian’s mouth pulled down into a scowl, Edmund decided he’d had enough. “Unless there’s some other reason you’re not going over there.”

“It’s nothing,” Caspian had responded too quickly. Edmund became certain something was wrong, and to Caspian’s dismay, he drew entirely the wrong conclusion. 

“You know, Caspian, if you’re having problems, they make pills for that now.” Edmund’s voice was filled with humor and an almost irreverent glee as he leaned against the side of the ship and grinned at his friend.

Caspian’s sour expression only deepened when he looked at Edmund again. “Problems?”

“Problems,” Edmund repeated, his eyes straying down to Caspian’s crotch in a blatant gesture. “You know,  _ getting up _ .”

Caspian could feel his cheeks burning at the mere suggestion of it. He had, he thought, absolutely no issues  _ getting up _ . As it happened, it had been so long since you and Caspian were together that it seemed like it took nothing at all to  _ get him up _ . All he needed was a whiff of your perfume or to watch you fixing your hair, or see your silhouette standing against the light on the other side of the ship. Hell, Caspian had been walking around stiff with arousal most of this trip. 

“That,” Caspian hissed, “is _ not  _ the problem.”

Edmund could have groaned in exasperation at the denial. “Then what is?”

It killed Caspian to say it then, he realized. “I don’t think she’s interested anymore,” he said, his voice solemn and low.

From the looks you were throwing his way, however, Edmund was certain that wasn’t the case.

Caspian still isn’t sure as he watches your back, noticing the way the blanket is pulled up over you and how you won’t turn to greet him. He takes a tentative step toward the bed, feeling a nervousness around you that he’s not really used to. Anyone else might think this was his first time, that he was a virgin king. The truth is that he’s terrified he’s right about you having moved on from him and he doesn’t know what he’ll do if he finally hears it confirmed. “Y/N?”

You don’t turn or look toward him from where you’re lying near the end of the bed. You didn’t expect him to come here tonight. It seems like he’s avoided you for the entire trip, you think, and some time before that. “Hm?”

“Are—” Caspian pauses to clear his throat, trying to buy himself some time as he takes another step toward you. “Are you awake?”

You brush away the silent tear that’s streaming down your cheek, refusing to move. “What is it? Do you need something?”

Caspian feels disappointment taking over him at your response.  _ Do you need something?  _ As if, he thinks in concern, you don’t want him here for any other reason. “No,” he says quickly. “I wasn’t—I—” For the first time in your relationship, Caspian has trouble making the words come out right. “I just…”

You frown, eyes closing as more tears threaten to come. You’re so confused. You don’t understand why any of this is happening. You don’t understand why Caspian doesn’t want you anymore. You don’t understand  _ what _ he wants from you. You just wish you could go back to the beginning, when Caspian seemed to love you no matter what. “You just what?"

Caspian wants to say it in some grand way, to make it sound more noble or poetic. Maybe if he said like that, he thinks, you might understand. Maybe you would want him back. He wants you to want him back. He wants to be someone you want. 

But there’s no other way to say than the way it is. “I miss you.”

Your voice is small, curious when you respond. “You do?” You wonder if you dare to turn around and look at him. 

Caspian wishes that you would. “I do. I miss you.” Once he finally admits it, Caspian has trouble not telling you everything. He wants to climb onto the bed and pull you in his arms and let you know how much he’s missed you, all the ways he’s missed you, how he’s thought about you. “I’ve been missing you for a long time now, and I—I wanted to give you space, to let you move on if that’s what you wanted, but…”

There are so many emotions warring inside you that you’re not sure which ones to listen to. Sadness. Despair. Hurt. Anger. Frustration. Relief. Joy. “You thought I was moving on?” You roll back on the bed to look toward Caspian, letting the blanket fall as you move. 

His eyes follow the movement, catching on the curve of your neck and following the part of your shoulder where the oversized shirt you wore to bed has tugged down. He remembers the last time he kissed you there, the way your eyes closed blissfully as he nuzzled his face against you. It seems like an age since he held you last. He swallows and tries to ignore the memory as he focuses on you and the way you’re looking at him. “I thought you wanted to.”

You’ve never wanted to punch Caspian before, but you get the sudden urge to now. “We’ve both been so busy and you stopped coming to see me...I thought you just didn’t want me anymore.” It’s hard to say it. You knew it would be hard to say it—it was hard enough to think it for the last however many days and nights that you’ve been thinking of it. You choke on the words, fighting back the fear and the hurt that maybe he really doesn’t want you. 

Caspian couldn’t be more surprised, if he’s honest. The idea that you might think that hadn’t even occurred to him. As if he could ever not want you. You hadn’t been part of the plan at first, but Caspian couldn’t imagine his life without you now. He’s crossing the rest of the space between you and climbing onto the bed before either of you has time to come up with any more stupid ideas about what the other wants. He leans down to gaze at you, reaching a hand out to cup your cheek and tracing his thumb over your lips slowly, savoring the feel of them beneath his finger. “How could I ever not want you?” His voice is a low, husky murmur and if he weren’t staring down at you, you might have missed it. “I’ve wanted you since the first moment I saw you—and every day, every time I’ve seen you, since then.”

He’s tentative at first when he leans down to kiss you, uncertain whether you’ll let him, half afraid that you won’t. His lips brush against yours in an almost kiss before he finally makes contact, but you don’t make him wait for permission to deepen it. Your lips part as you arch against the bed, reaching out for him. Your hands go around his neck and pull him down against you and Caspian happily complies, moaning into the kiss. His lower half shifts on top of you, one leg between both of yours still underneath the blanket, and you feel him hard against your hip, and that’s all it takes for your body to realize that you’re ready for Caspian. You feel warm and alive at his presence, your pussy wet at the idea of him there and the blanket, you think, is in the way.

You’ve never hated blankets so much in your life.

Caspian doesn’t like them, either. He doesn’t like that the fabric is a barrier between the two of you, as if it’s trying to keep you apart. He doesn’t like that he can’t feel your warm, bare skin underneath him as his chest presses against yours. He doesn’t like that he can’t reach down and touch you in the way that he wants to. He pulls away long enough to tug the blanket out of the way, both of you panting from kissing, and his eyes flash with something dark and hungry at the sight of you in just the night shirt, staring up at him with swollen lips. He can see the details of your body underneath the shirt, the curves of your breasts as your nipples peak under his gaze. The hemline has slid up while you’ve been in bed and your upper thighs are bare, the curve of your ass visible. His cock strains against his pants as he gazes down at you, so hard he’s not sure he can stand wearing them much longer. He’s thought about you like for weeks now, always trying to be respectful with you in case you hadn’t wanted him like this anymore. 

He doesn’t want to wait any longer.

He nearly loses his concentration when he goes to undo his pants and you eagerly reach out to help him, your fingers tangling up in his. It takes all his effort not to grab your wrists and hold them down above your head and claim your body for himself right there. He manages to get his pants undone with your help, moving long enough to kick them to the side of the room and abandoning his shirt at the time. He doesn’t realize that you’ve pushed yourself up in the bed and thrown aside your flimsy night shirt until he turns back to you and sees you sitting there, body bared for him and legs parted in invitation. You don’t mean to play the seductress, but you couldn’t have chosen a better pose if you’d tried as Caspian’s cock aches for satisfaction after so long without it. He crosses the bed to you and you position yourself underneath him easily, taking heavy, slow breaths in anticipation of him. 

It’s like ecstasy the first moment that Caspian finally touches you, ghosting his fingertips over the area between your breasts. He teases at every curve he finds there, making long strokes before he finally cups one breast in his hand and smooths a thumb over your nipple as you shiver underneath him. That single shiver seems to be the final straw. Any other night, Caspian might tease you—he might draw out his movements until you writhe and cry underneath him, he might run his tongue over your body until you can barely keep still, he might make you cum again and again before you ever feel him inside of you. 

Any other night, you might roll him on his back and straddle his waist and try to do the same with him.

Tonight, though, neither of you has that much control. You just want to be together in every sense that you can. You force yourself to take steady breaths as Caspian reaches between your legs, easing up your thighs to the dampness between them. You see his jaw tense at the effort to hold back when his fingers slide between your folds, moving over your slit and clit briefly before pushing inside you. Your legs spread wide for him as your body rises to meet the touch, desperate for any more of him that you can get. It takes the last of Caspian’s self control to pull away and ease himself against you, running his cock against your slick folds for a moment as you whine at the touch before finally burying himself inside you. You gasp and Caspian moans as he moves inside you, the sounds of it filling your room. Vaguely, you wonder if the crew can hear it, but it doesn’t really matter when you feel him begin to pull out slowly and thrust to fill you up again, his hips snapping against yours in a rush to make contact. It’s a hurried move that unleashes a frenzy of desperation for more.

More of Caspian inside you. More of his body pressed against you. More of his grunting, moaning, uncontrolled praise.  _ Y/N, Y/N. You’re so tight. You feel so good around me. Y/N _ . It pushes you even further into oblivion as your hands move to his shoulders, fingers digging into skin as you try to hold on. 

You think you could die of pleasure with each stroke of him inside you, each sound he makes and each desperate touch you feel as he pins one hand above your head and reaches down to hook a hand under one of your knees, spreading even you wider underneath him.  _ Caspian _ . Your voice feels distant when you hear it, registering the way it’s too much for this room—that the pleasure and desire in it can’t be contained.  _ Oh, Caspian, harder, harder. Please, please, harder, Caspian. More. _

You don’t care who hears it or what they might think when you feel his length inside you, his body between your legs, his eyes gazing down at you with heat. You just care about this moment, about being with him and the way he makes you feel. You can get lost in the way he looks at you as if you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on in his life and being with you is a blessing that he never expected. Your body clenches underneath him, hips arching with every inch closer he drives you toward release. Your moans and cries mix together as Caspian’s breaths grow unsteady and his grip on your knee grows tighter without thinking. Your fingernails break skin when you finally cum, fingers clenched so tightly that your knuckles are white as you cry his name so loudly that you’re sure anyone at sea could hear it.

**_Caspian_ ** .

He doesn’t stop as your body clenches and relaxes underneath him, still moaning at him inside of you as he pushes onward with every thrust of his hips against yours. You’re not sure you can stand it any longer when he finally starts to slow, your name on his lips when you feel him release inside of you as his body stills. Absently, he thinks that he should have had more control than this—he should have pulled out of you first. The two of you have always been careful, trying to prevent any complications that neither of you were ready for. But it’s too late when his grip on your knee and your wrist eases, his body starting to relax against yours while he’s still inside of you. It’s done, he thinks, and if it means that the two of you have made something together,  _ someone _ together, then he can’t imagine a better way of creating new life than being here with you. 

No one is in any hurry when Caspian pulls out of you and settles next to you on the bed, pulling you against him and closing his eyes in contentment when you rest your head on his chest and bury your face against his skin, pressing your lips there gently. It’s quiet between you as you let your eyes drift closed and stroke your fingers over the lines of his abs, always so well defined from hours spent training to fight. It occurs to you when you open your eyes that you might have hurt him with your nails and you look up at him with concern. “I think I might have hurt your shoulders,” you say with a low voice, frowning despite how peaceful he looks. You don’t like the idea that you might have hurt him, especially in such an intimate moment.

Caspian just chuckles though and opens his eyes to gaze down at you with a look of adoration. “If you did, I don’t mind.” If you did, he thinks, it was worth it for all the pleasure that passed between you two. 

Then he notices the slight bruise coming out on the wrist he held above your head and he wonders about the knee he held onto, worry contorting his features as he reaches for your arm and gingerly lifts it to examine the bruise there. “I think I hurt you more than you hurt me, anyway.” He shakes his head, a little afraid to meet your eyes. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to do this.”

“Don’t be,” you reply, and you mean it. The bruise doesn’t bother you. You’ll be sore for a day or two, you think, and it’ll fade, but what you have with Caspian won’t. 

“I mean it,” Caspian insists, tracing a thumb over the spot where his hand encircled your wrist. “I should have more control than that. I would never hurt you on purpose, Y/N. I never want to hurt you.”

“I know.” You pull yourself up on the bed enough that your gaze is level with him, resting beside him on the bed and reaching out to stroke his cheek as he holds your wrist. “I know that. I’m not upset, Caspian.” Whatever pain you feel tomorrow is better than the hurt you’ve felt for weeks, believing that he didn’t want you anymore. Your mouth pulls up into an impish grin as you edge a little closer to him on the bed, your hand moving further down his jaw. “But if you’re really that upset, there is a way you can make it up to me.”

Caspian watches you in fascination for a moment before he meets you with a slight grin of his own. “And what is that?”

You edge even closer to him on the bed, moving one leg to hook it around his and letting your thigh ever so gently brush against his cock as he starts to harden again at the contact. “We could always go again?” 

Caspian’s grin grows wide before he pulls your bruised wrist to your lips, placing a gentle kiss there and holding your gaze before he grins at you again. “Whatever my lady wishes.”

It’s a long time before the two of you get any sleep that night, and you’re sure the both of you will be dragging the entire day tomorrow, but you don’t care. It’s just nice to be in Caspian’s arms again, to know that you belong to each other. 

The next morning greets Caspian with a renewed strength, even though he barely slept that night. And even though, he realizes suddenly, not much of his crew necessarily got a lot of sleep, either. Edmund, in particular, is looking tired with his ruffled hair and the hint of circles under his eyes as he drinks a cup of tea and leans against a wall when Caspian steps above deck. 

Caspian gives him a worried look. “Long night?”

Edmund’s eyebrows raise in a look of entertainment. “Probably not as long as yours,” he answers with a smirk. He turns toward Reepicheep, who’s also looking a little worse for wear. “What do you think?”

“I think the next time we’re all on a ship together,” the mouse says, leaning against the wall beside Edmund, “we need to reinforce the walls to Y/N’s bedroom.” He shakes his head, even his whiskers looking limp with exhaustion. “I didn’t sleep a wink,” he admits.

“I guess she was still interested after all?”

Caspian should probably have been upset that the time he spent with you last night turned out to be entertainment for the entire ship. He should probably have been embarrassed or bashful, or  _ something _ , he thinks, but he’s not. He’s too happy to be back on good terms with you and to consider all the things he promised to do with you tonight.

He actually feels a little sorry for Edmund and Reepicheep. Maybe they have a point about making sure the next ship is a little more sound proof.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated as I live for external validation.
> 
> And cookies.
> 
> Leave me a smutty Caspian prompt @artemisausten on tumblr!


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